


Aftermath

by Ann7121



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121
Summary: Avon is dead, but he’s a difficult man to kill.





	Aftermath

“What was he doing out there?” 

That was Tarrant. Blake had heard the question so many times. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t muster the energy to say so. It was as if he had lead weights on his eyelids, his limbs. What he did know was the exact moment Avon had died. 

He’d woken up because he was cold. The bed was empty, not unusual in itself; Avon sometimes got up and worked if he couldn’t sleep. Then he’d seen him, gazing at him with that characteristic expression - more accusing than affectionate - but before he could say anything, there was a bang and the figure disappeared. With a sick feeling, Blake had asked Deva to check that nothing untoward had happened. It had been an age before he’d confirmed that Avon had been found, lying in the rain, and quite dead.

They had advised him not to go into the room because of the damage the body had sustained. Instead he was to identify it by observing through a little window. Silly really. Everyone knew who Avon was, but it was protocol. 

The trip to the hospital had been uneventful but there was a delay in the white spacious foyer before the coroner arrived. He stood there, accompanied by the Scorpio crew, fidgeting awkwardly. The embarrassed assistant who had apologised profusely for the delay, asked if they’d manage to park before remembering that this was the President and he had been driven to the door. The foyer, empty of everyone except several security guards and Blake’s entourage, echoed with silence.

They’d lain him on his side, hiding the ruin to the other side of his body and face. A towel covered the wound on his head . Blake peered through the small glass. “ Oh yes, that’s my husband,” was wrenched from his throat, his tone surprised. From their warnings, he’d expected Avon to be maimed, but the left side of his face seemed unmarked. He looked peaceful, as he did when he was sleeping. Blake longed to take him in his arms, everything ached to reach out to him...but all he could do was place a hand on the glass. He couldn’t make his vocal cords work to say, “Goodbye.”

He got through the funeral well. Vila helped, giving a funny and honest speech about Avon’s more crazy escapades as well as the times he’d saved lives. Nobody mentioned the Gauda Prime fiasco. Then they placed the coffin in a shuttle and sent it off towards the sun.

Dayna was all for prosecuting the driver who’d mowed him down, but Blake couldn’t get worked up enough to bother. It had been dark, raining. Prosecuting him wouldn’t bring Avon back. 

Why Avon had chosen to leave the Presidential Residence so late at night was a mystery that would probably never be solved. The security guards had seen him leave, but this was Kerr Avon...they hadn’t dared to challenge him or prevent him going. Best guess, he’d been meeting someone who could give him drugs stronger than those he was legally prescribed. The pain had been getting worse so it was as plausible explanation as any. 

Once the formalities we’re over, there was nothing to do but sit for hours, immobile in his chair, while around him, his staff got on with the business of running the country. Unable to cry, unable to rage he just sat, disbelieving. Why was there no Avon shaped hole, punched through the atmosphere? A permanent record of his absence. Why did the sun still shine? 

Eventually, Freedom Day rolled around and he was informed he’d have to attend, just to reassure the people he was still alive. Soolin marched into his quarters, flung back the heavy curtains and selected two outfits for him to wear before marching out again. “Half an hour,” she told him brusquely before she disappeared. He fingered the two, one a dull burgundy, sleekly tailored, the other olive green, with huge sleeves. He’d just reached for the green when he heard the voice:

“Of course, that’s the one to choose if you wish to resemble a giant slug.”

“Avon?” He swung around but the room was empty, but as he bent, sighing, to pick up the green outfit again, he felt a warm breath tickle his ear. The voice, sharp with disapproval, snapped:

“Leave it Blake. I thought I’d managed to instil some taste in you. That monstrosity is only useful if you’re about to embark of a hazardous expedition and need somewhere to stash a snack or three..”

“ Avon.” Blake closed his eyes and the tears began to fall, slowly at first and then in great, gulping gasps,

He felt an arm encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly and lovingly as he sobbed, but the voice when it came again had a castigating timbre.

“That’s enough Blake. Pull yourself together. You have work to do.”

Scrubbing the tears from his face, Blake stumbled to the bed.

“The burgundy,” the voice prompted, sternly. 

Once he was dressed, Blake looked around the room but of course it was empty. None the less before he left it, he went over to the chair that Avon had always sat in, Avon’s chair, and placed his hands on its back, resting his weight on it. 

“I was waiting for you,” he said. “Don’t let me down again.”

“Why Blake, I thought trusted me,” the voice answered in his ear, a faint whisper but distinct as a bell, with a hint of fond humour. “As if I’d leave you on your own.”


End file.
